


Scintillating

by CantansAvis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantansAvis/pseuds/CantansAvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson and Sgt. Donovan were the last of the Scotland Yard who had any scintilla of inclination to work with the supercilious Sherlock Holmes. And Lestrade finds just the person to work with the pompous git.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be alarmed at the length, this is the shortest chapter.

"I refuse to work anywhere near this nutcase anymore!" Anderson and Sergeant Donovan screamed simultaneously.

DI Lestrade closed his eyes and began to rub his temples, hoping that the pain of this problem would fade away. Soon.

"He's the best we got," Lestrade sighed.

"We've solved cases without him before," Donovan seethed, "the Scotland Yard does not,  _should not_ , depend on one man!"

"How many lives has he saved? How many crimes has he justified? We would have put away many an innocent man and have several more boxes of cold cases without Mr. Holmes!" Lestrade hissed back.

"He may have done all that sir, or he may have set you up. He may have set us all up. Goddammit, he may have set all of bloody England up!" Anderson muttered.

"Anderson! Will you shut up? To hell with your friggin' conspiracy theories," Lestrade fumed. "How about this? Plan A: I fire the both of you and pray to never see your repugnant faces again or Plan B: You two just shut your mouths."

"We'll take Plan B..." Donovan trailed off uncertainly.

"Great-" Lestrade sighed in relief.

"On one condition," Anderson said.

"What?" Lestrade muttered, frustrated.

"We never work with that psychopath ever again," Anderson stated. Donovan's face lit up with the possibility.

_I'll find someone better than these bozos. Someone not currently in the Scotland Yard. Someone that both Sherlock and I can trust (John's a bit too loyal to him)._ "Sure," Lestrade said with a smile.  _And he's not a psychopath, he's a high-functioning sociopath._


	2. The First Meeting: Part 1

_Soon, in the States:_

"Hey Zinny," Lt. Derwyn called.

A woman in her late twenties spun on her heel, her high black ponytail, highlighted with blue streaks, almost whipping a co-worker in the face.

"Yes, sir?" Her voice was calm and professionally inquisitive, but her bistre brown eyes glimmered with an eager excitement.

"How do you feel about going to the London?"

_Somewhere in London:_

"You've made a lotta progress Sammy," Dr. Ulani stated cheerfully. She looked over the outstanding forensics student. He practically shook with enthusiasm. This was one kid who would always love his job. If he found the right one.

"Thanks, doc," Sammy replied, "do you think I have what it takes to make it in the Scotland Yard, y'know, CSI?"

"Now that you mention it..."

_3 weeks later, in London:_

"Why did I have to come?" the usually-stoic Sherlock whined.

"Lestrade said it was very important," John said soothingly.  _He is more of a child than he would like to admit he is._ John smiled.  _If I ever asked, he would probably claim that he never had a childhood. Or that he was at least a very mature child._

"What on earth are you sniggering about?" Sherlock inquired scathingly.

"Oh, nothing," John mumbled.

"Why couldn't Lestrade just come over? I was in the middle of some very important research on how the eye reacts to..." John blocked out his friend and his "very important research". And honestly? He did not have any answers to Sherlock's questions.

_One very long (for both John and the cabby) drive later:_

"Everyone in the Scotland Yard –both detectives and forensics— refuses to work with you," Lestrade said calmly.

 _Looks like we're getting the pink slip,_ John thought.  _Well, all good things must come to an end. We can make it without these blokes, right?_ John's hopes sank as his thoughts rambled on with hundred of various scenarios, all of which looked absolutely dismal.

"So what?" Sherlock asked, still annoyed he had to leave the flat.

"So we're out of business with the Scotland Yard," John muttered.

"Not quite," Lestrade said slyly. John dared to hope. Sherlock looked slightly interested.

"You people are finally letting me work alone?" Sherlock queried.

"Will you ever stop asking that?" Lestrade -almost- yelled, exasperated. After a sharp intake of breath to regain his composure, he stated, "You know why we can't let you do that Sherlock. To you the law is a bit more flexible than it actually is. And though John may argue, he's a very loyal man; won't rat you out."

Lestrade's eyes glanced at the two of them and showed a glimmer of curiosity.

 _Great. I hope people still aren't talking about us as a couple again,_ John cringed.

"Your point...?" Sherlock said, his tone soaked in boredom.

"We can solve cases without you..." Lestrade started.

 _Here it comes,_ John fought the urge to physically close his eyes and cringe, as if it he was watching the point of the movie where all hope is just about to be lost.

"But we solve more with you."

John again fought the physical urge to sigh in relief, jump for joy, or to run up to Lestrade and hug him.

"So I do get to work alone?" Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up, his thoughts racing with the possibilities, only for the record to screech,

"No. Goddammit Sherlock, how many times must I tell you?" Lestrade said, the pain from the last Sherlock headache hammering its way to the front of his forehead.

Sherlock's whole figure drooped, like child who's been denied a sundae.

"So what is going to happen?" John asked. The other two men swiveled their heads to face John; they had almost completely forgotten he was in the room.

Lestrade cleared his throat, a bit ashamed he had forgotten about the doctor. "I set out to find some people I could trust and can most likely work with you. They'll need to get used to Mr. Pompous over here, " Lestrade pointing his thumb toward the slightly indignant Mr. Holmes, "so they're coming in one at a time. Come in Samuel!"

As the door creaked open and a lanky, young man with a shock of auburn hair lumbered in nervously, twitching as he tried to appear calm, Sherlock went into "Sherlock mode".

_First big job. Recently graduated. High marks. From a rural background here in England. Currently lives in the city. Eager, but let's see whether or not he breaks under pressure._

"I'll leave you three alone," Lestrade said as he crept out of the room.

With the click of the door, came Sherlock's bombardment of questions, "How many freckles do you currently have on your face? How many stairs did you climb on your way up here? What is the name of the secretary on the third floor? What is your impression of Lestrade? Of John? Of me?"

John closed his eyes and shook his head,  _This kid is doomed._


	3. Part II, Zinny, and the Plan

Sammy's green eyes widened in surprise, then hardened with determination. "I have 53 freckles on my face. I climbed up 107 steps; for here in the city, it's a bit hard to get some exercise without spending money on some fancy-schmancy gym. The name of the secretary on the third floor is Doris Flanner."

John's head snapped up in surprise. Sherlock looked only slightly interested.

"Lestrade trusts you, but not enough to leave you alone. His last vacation was about four months ago, in the Caribbean. He's in distress currently, but that's obvious."

Sherlock perked up, but only slightly.

"John here served as a military doctor in Afghanistan; or maybe Iraq? He used to suffer from a psychosomatic leg and slight tremor, but it stopped some time ago. He ate some scrambled eggs and bacon with a glass of orange juice this morning. He sleeps in an upstairs room. He has a sibling named Harry, who had gone through some separation with a partner. And from my being here, he is quite loyal to you."

John's jaw dropped.  _Holy crap._

Sherlock suppressed a smile.  _Hey, this kid just might make it._

"And you Mr. Holmes are quite a challenge... But I can see you have smoked previously and are trying your best to quit. You ate dry toast and drank a mug of coffee, black. You are currently doing some at-home research, and were quite annoyed this morning."

"Do you read either my website or my colleague's blog?" Sherlock inquired.

"No, sir. Haven't had the time to idle on the internet lately. I have seen a few news articles on some of your cases."

"Well, then, tell Lestrade that I approve and to send in the next person. Wait, John, I forgot what do you think?"

"Uh, bwuh, he's, brilliant," John stated, dazed.

"Oh, call me Sammy. Samuel just isn't me." Sammy looked pleased as he quickly left the room.

"I wouldn't say he's  _brilliant,_ John," Sherlock said, "but unlike the rest of you lot he can actually deduce facts from his environment."

The door clicked again as Zinny walked into the room in her charcoal-gray sneakers.

Sherlock's eyes and mind immediately locked into "Sherlock Mode" once again:

_Experienced. Less formal. Not as nervous as Sammy. From the northeastern region of the States. Good dental work. Lived in a more urban region. Could use some cash. And a place to live. Has a small dog. Glasses don't quite fit. Still experimenting with her life._

"What do you think of the young man who just left? How many floors are in this building? How many stairs? Tell me about Lestrade. Then John. Then me," Sherlock queried.

Zinny did not have the deer-in-the-headlights looks that Sammy had at first when confronted with Sherlock's bombardment of questions. She simply straightened herself and her glasses as she replied:

"That young man was nervous about this meeting. He has worked very hard to get where he is. This would be his first big job. He comes from a rural background. There are twenty-one floors in this building and thus, 483 steps, not including the fire escapes; if you do include the fire escapes there are 819 steps."

John looked even more dazed...if that was possible. Sherlock did not look the least bit astonished.

"Lestrade is obviously in some distress. He trusts you and is loyal to you to some degree. That's why he spent time looking for people willing to work with you. He has smoked previously and is doing well in quitting cold turkey...unlike one person I have just met."

Sherlock perked up at that statement.  _Interesting..._

"I have read John's blog, so I would think it unfair for me to state what is on there. I will say that he had quite a filling breakfast which consisted of some scrambled eggs, bacon, and a glass of orange juice."

John looked over himself.  _Am I a slob when I eat breakfast? Everyone seems to be able to tell what I had!_

"Mr. Holmes, unlike Lestrade, you seem to be having a harder time quitting smoking. And from my being here, you and John seem to bend the laws a bit too often for Lestrade's liking. You had some dry toast and a mug of black coffee, 2 sugars. I have read your website, which is quite interesting...sometimes."

John withheld the urge to snicker at that statement. Sherlock looked like he didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted.

"You can tell Lestrade I approve. What about you John?" Sherlock asked his colleague.

"Yeah," John muttered.

Zinny flashed the pair a smile and as she left, said, "By the way, call me Zinny. Oh, and if you know any place where rent is cheap, call me; my hotel is getting too expensive."

Lestrade poked his head back into the room and held out a piece of paper. "Here's their contact information. You boys are dismissed now."

Sherlock whisked past Lestrade and John grabbed the paper as he followed.

_At 221B Baker Street:_

"Boys, you're falling behind on your rent," Mrs. Hudson scolded.

"Mrs. Hudson, there haven't been many 'interesting' cases lately," John sighed, "And I'm guessing Sherlock's shooting the wall hasn't helped our case either."

_Uh-oh. Sherlock has that 'thinking' look on his face,_ John thought.

"John, can you pass me that contact information sheet that Lestrade gave us earlier?"

"Thinking about getting that Sammy kid to move in?"

"No no, he's already living with a friend of his."

"How could you tell?"

"His apartment key is a recent copy," Sherlock rambled, "He comes from a rural background from the look of his calloused hands and strong, tan build. So he's not living with family. He went to college here in the city by the looks of his baseball cap that he was twisting nervously; has the school mascot and logo on it. The leftover traces of shaving cream on his face show he's currently not in a relationship; thus he's not living with his girlfriend. Ergo, he's living with a friend."

_Geeze, whatever._ "So you're calling the girl? Doesn't seem like she has much money."

"But unlike us, she's actually part of the Scotland Yard and has a steady source of income."

"Where would she sleep? Where would she keep her stuff?"

"John, relax. There is only a slight possibility she'll actually accept this proposition," Sherlock soothed as his long, nimble fingers quickly dialed the number on the sheet.

"Then why the hell are you doing this?"

"She needs a place to stay, does she not? And any chance to keep an eye on the people we work with is worth taking," Sherlock stated as the phone rang in his ear.

_I don't think I'll ever understand Sherlock..._


	4. Future Flatmate?

"Hello?"

"Hello Zinny, are you still looking for a place to live?"

_I can't believe this..._ John shook his head.

"Uhh...yeah. Y'know a place?"

"Maybe. What kind of place are you looking for?"

"Good place. Cheap rent. I'm willing to split the rent with another person or more. Uhh...I only need a couch or futon to sleep on, at least half a closet, a shelf...oh! And I have a small, quiet dog... And it'd be nice if they didn't mind my violin."

"Then come to 221B Baker Street at around..." Sherlock covered the phone. "What time is it John?"

Still in disbelief, John said, "Half past eleven."

"Noon. Do you like Chinese food? Any allergies?"

"Uhh..Yeah...No allergies, I just don't like chestnuts in my lo mein..."  _Lestrade wasn't kidding when they said Sherlock was a strange man._

"Great, lunch will be provided. Bye."

"Uhh...bye." Zinny, still confused, pressed the red "end call" button.

_Well, this day is picking up...I hope,_ Zinny thought, flopping backwards on her bed. She closed her eyes as the morning's events ran through her head.

Zinny supposed she woke up on the proverbial wrong sideof the bed.

Her heels were missing. She forgot to take out Arthur's chew toy, so Arthur, her feisty Boston terrier puppy, chewed up her flats instead... along with most of her clothes.

_Of course I leave the main compartment of my suitcase open...I guess my sneakers aren't so shabby. And I still have one pair of slacks and a blouse._

The waiter in the cafe near her hotel was a bit of a klutz and spilled her order on her (thank God she didn't order coffee, hot tea, or hot cocoa), so there went her only non-chewed, professional outfit.  _Oh crap._

It took forever to catch a cab. And when she finally arrived at the station, she heard several nasty rumors about her (hopefully) future colleagues. Whispers of a murderous psychopath reached her ears.

_At least I got the job,_ Zinny thought,  _And he doesn't seem like a psychopath; maybe a high-functioning sociopath, but not a psychopath._

"C'mon Arthur, we got a flat to see." Zinny whistled and an innocent-looking black and white terrier bounced up, tail wagging so hard and fast it looked like it would fall off.

_At 221B Baker Street:_

"Hello Zinny," Sherlock greeted their maybe-future flatmate.

"Uhhh...hey."

"Come in," Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.

_It's a good thing I don't have a lotta stuff,_  Zinny thought as she looked around. Every corner seemed to have  _something_ in it.

"Does he bark a lot? Does he shed? How old is he?"

Zinny was examining the bookshelves. "Hmm...Wha? Oh, Arthur! No, he doesn't bark much. He doesn't shed much either. He's eight months old; he sometimes nips and chews stuff. Uh, who else lives here?"

_Hmm..."Arthur"._

"Me. John. The landlady, Mrs. Hudson."

"Whoa, wait. Are you sure you want me to move in with you?"  _Okay, he's a bit weird. Maybe paranoid about new colleagues?_

"Believe it or not, we're falling behind on our rent. You needed a place to stay, some place cheap. And what's cheaper than splitting this flat with two other people?"

_Huh. That makes sense._

"Uhh...is the couch comfortable?"

"I've fallen asleep on it; it's pretty comfortable. We can get a pull-out couch or a futon if you want." Sherlock did not mention the fact that he could fall asleep pretty much anywhere and think it was comfortable.

"The couch'll do. You gotta spare closet, cabinet, and/or shelves?"

Sherlock walked into the hallway and opened a door to reveal a mostly empty coat closet with a completely empty top shelf. "Will this do?"

Zinny, still kind of dazed, said, "Uh...Yeah."  _I can't believe I found a place this easily..._

"Need any help bringing anything over?"

Zinny subtly shook herself out her daze. "Nope, is it okay if I move in today?"

"Go ahead."

_Sweet._

"But would you like some lunch first? John will be over soon with the Chinese food."

"I'll be quick. Start without me if he gets here before me. Make sure to save some!" Zinny blabbered as she hurried out the door, dragging a curious Arthur behind her.

[Arthur:  _Waaaiiit...I'm not done sniffing...I smelled that corner, and that corner, and near that couch, and that man's shoes..._ ]


	5. Not Because of Chestnuts

_John:_

"I like chestnuts in my lo mein," John muttered as he paid for the Chinese food and grabbed the brown paper bag, the smell of chestnut-less lo mein wafting toward his nose.

John was still in disbelief. They barely knew this "Zinny" person and Sherlock was inviting her to  _live_  with them? Since Irene Adler, women with almost as much wit as Sherlock worried him. John never wanted to see Sherlock like that again: broken-hearted, confused; he didn't mind people expressing emotions, but when Sherlock showed them, he  _showed_ them.

_Zinny:_

"Whoa." Zinny breathed a low whistle. She was done packing and she had only filled half her medium-sized suitcase. "You sure chewed a lot of my stuff, Arthur." She mock-glared at the puppy who looked up from his latest victim (a hotel towel) and cocked his head as if to say,  _Who me? What did I ever do?_

"At least I have a job now." Zinny zipped up her navy blue suitcase and scanned the room for anything she missed. "C'mon Arthur."

_Back to 221B Baker Street:_

"Hello Zinny, John's just got back. Hungry?" Sherlock queried.

"Starvin'." Zinny grinned. She walked in, carrying in her suitcase easily.

_What an interesting accent, northeast United States, but with her own little twist._

Sherlock suppressed a grin.  _Why on earth do I feel like smirking?_ He eyed her bag.

"Need any help with that?"

"It's a lot lighter than it looks," Zinny chuckled.  _He's awful nice._

"John, Zinny's here!" Sherlock hollered. He raced ahead of his new flatmate. Zinny's grin widened.  _That's so adorable..._

Arthur perked up.  _Another person? YAY!_

"Hello." Zinny waved, then almost cocked her head in an Arthur-like manner.

_He's bothered. And I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the lo mein by the way he's trying not to glare at me._

"Hey Sherlock, can you get some plates? Do you mind chopsticks?" John never took his eyes off his new flatmate.

Zinny was a bit unnerved. "Uh, no."

Sherlock zoomed into the kitchen.

"So..." Zinny said, feeling very awkward. "Any quirks I should know about?"

 _She doesn't seem bad...She looks like she's in a very awkward situation._ John cleared his throat. "Umm..."

Sherlock came in carrying three plates. "He snores. He watches a bit too much crap telly. He whines and complains."

"You put a head in the fridge and shot the wall!"

 _A head? And I was wondering about those holes in the wall; okay, maybe he's a bit insane._ Still, Zinny giggled quietly as the two men argued.

"Well, you don't need to complain about it," Sherlock scoffed.

John looked toward Zinny as Sherlock passed out the plates. "He's awake as long as physically possible. He'll fall asleep anywhere. As you have heard, he stores body parts from the mortuary in the fridge and shoots the wall when he's bored. When he's lonely he talks to his skull. When most people are sleeping he's doing who-knows-what -"

Sherlock scoffed again as John passed out the chopsticks and took out the food. "You know very well that I just practice my violin. And work on an experiment or two. (And talk to my skull; it doesn't complain as much as you.)"

 _A skull? And a violinist as well? This is a very enigmatic man..._ Zinny watched the two banter as she ate. And this is how they passed the lunch hour.

As Sherlock recollected the plates, John said, "The trash bin's getting full. Your turn to take it out."

Sherlock looked like he had a clever remark, but instead bit his tongue and left.

"Sorry if I looked like I wanted to kill you Zinny." John stared guiltily at his shoes.

"Yeah...what was that all about?"

"I'm not sure if I can tell you just yet," John said uncertainly. "But just so you know, it's not because of the chestnuts," he said with a wink.

Zinny smiled. "Ok."  _Yup, they're_ both _very enigmatic._

"So you okay with the couch?"

"Yeah." With that Zinny got up and headed toward the door. "I gotta do some shopping as you can tell by the weight of my suitcase."

John lifted the navy-blue case, eyes widening in surprise. "Uh, yeah. Need any help?"

"Nah, I think I got it. Just keep an eye on Arthur for me."

[Arthur:  _Oooooh! What's in_ that  _corner?_ ]

"Zinny!" John threw a key to Zinny, which she almost caught. John smirked. "That's your flat key."

Zinny grinned. "Thanks!"

She stepped outside. The weather that day was wonderful. The sun was mostly out (there were some foreboding clouds) and there was a slight breeze. Zinny caught a cab but saw that there was a women sitting next to her.

"Oh! Uh, sorry!" Zinny moved to leave. All the doors locked with a final, resounding thudding click.

"Yeah, no." The mysterious woman said, flipping her golden brown hair.

 _Great._ Zinny sighed and settled in her seat.

"Buckle up," the woman stated. As soon as those two words were out, the car accelerated at least 80 km/h.

_Crap._


	6. Mycroft's at It Again

Zinny saw buildings, but at the speed they were going, they were more like paint brush swipes. Besides, she hadn't been in London, let alone Britain, long enough to know where she was. "So I guess I'm not gonna find out where I'm going?"

The woman pried her eyes away from her phone. She gave Zinny a knowing-smile and cheerfully replied, "Uh-huh."

"And I'm not gonna know who you are?"

"You can call me Anthea."

"Ok." Zinny slipped into a thoughtful silence as Anthea's manicured fingers continued to tip-tap on her cell phone keyboard.

The car began to slow down and Zinny looked around frantically, for any clue as to where she was. But it was no use, they were in an underground parking garage; apparently abandoned.

Except for one man, standing 50 feet away from the car, carelessly twirling an umbrella.

"You can get out now." Anthea made a shooing motion, eyes not leaving the phone screen.

Zinny opened the car door and approached the man, her footsteps echoing. The car headlights provided the only light, but they were enough. As Zinny stood in front of the man with an amused smirk, she unknowingly fell into a mode much like "Sherlock-mode":

_Obviously high in power. Probably a high position in the government. On a diet. Failing to some extent. No pets. Has a large smart-phone in the inside pocket of his coat. The umbrella..._

The man's eyes widened. "No," he said loudly. Zinny wasn't paying attention.

"No! Oh God, No!" he shouted, wildly waving his umbrella. Zinny flinched and alarm caused her body to become rigid. Not daring to speak in front of the probably madman, Zinny simply cocked her head in inquiry.

"You – you have that look." Zinny stayed frozen, her mind very close to confirming the lack of sanity this man possessed.

The man looked flustered and sputtered, "You know, that look! Just – just stop and I'll explain."

Zinny relaxed and crossed her arms, waiting for some explanation to the madness. The man, greatly relieved, took a deep breath and leaned on his now-still umbrella. "I'm sorry about that. That look just irritates me so much... Sorry."

Zinny gave a huff and then, also in a Sherlockian manner (but with her own style), bombarded the peculiar person with questions:

"Who the hell are you? Why am I here? Why does this need to be done so secretly? And what is up with the umbrella?"

The man smiled, amused. "The weather here in London is just so unpredictable. And I'm here to offer you a deal."

Zinny grew annoyed. "Oh, so you're the devil?" She rolled her eyes.

"To Sherlock, yes." Zinny froze again. "Attached to the man already? Pity. John wouldn't spy on Sherlock for me, now you?"

"Who said anything about spying?"

"I did. I'll pay you."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Sherlock's arch-enemy, according to him. But I'm only doing this because I worry about him."

Wait...the eyes. The body structure. The accent. The way he presents himself. Aloof. Secretive. And his genuine concern... _holy crap_.

"You're his brother."

The man's eyes widened again. "What the – how the...How the heck do you know?" _Goddammit, she's just like him._

Zinny flashed him a smile and winked. "You would know. Now, can I leave? The money would be nice, but I already report to Lestrade about whether his activities are legal or not. Just call me with your fancy phone next time you're wondering how he's doing with the real world. But I'll need a name and your number. I don't pick up my phone if I don't know who's calling."

The man blinked. _She's a bit like Sherlock, but she can actually appear normal...there is hope for my little brother,_ he thought, again amused and wondering.

"Mycroft. And just find the number on Sherlock's phone. He constantly changes my name though. I might be Mycroft, or Go-die-Mycroft, or Go-away-Mycroft, or Snooty-Arse...You can leave now."

Zinny gave a little farewell wave, and trying not to giggle, pivoted on her heel, ponytail flying.

Anthea was standing outside the car, leaning on the hood, still on her phone. She looked up.

"Do you know a few good, but cheap, places to shop?" Zinny asked.

Anthea smiled, looked down at her phone and then back up, and replied, "Yeah, we'll drop you off and give you directions on how to get back home."

_Maybe I'll have a normal day now..._


	7. Meanwhile at 221B Baker Street

Sherlock stared at the black-and-white terrier, who had jumped up onto the couch across from his own seat and stared back. _Why do people have pets? This little thing doesn't appear to have any use._

_Why does that man keep staring at me? I wonder where Zinny is...Where is that nicer man?_

John walked in from the kitchen (apparently, according to Sherlock, it had been his turn to wash the dishes). Arthur turned to face him, and excited, _ooh-person!_ energy took over and he began wagging his stubby tail wildly again. Sherlock kept staring at the creature.

"Uh... Sherlock?" It's like he's never seen a pet dog.

Annoyed, Sherlock replied with an annoyed, "What?"

"Why are you staring at the dog?"

"I'm observing."

"...Okay." John turned on his heel and slowly walked away. _Sometimes I just don't understand that man. I think I'll go see Sarah tonight. Now where'd I put my phone?_

Arthur, somewhat disappointed John left, looked back at Sherlock, who was still staring at him with slate-grey eyes. _He looks like he needs a cuddle. Maybe then he won't look be like a rocky-person-thingy..._

Arthur jumped off the couch. Sherlock still didn't move. He's probably going to follow John. What he didn't expect was for the furry thing to jump into his lap and look up at him with its big brown eyes. _So that's what they mean by puppy dog eyes..._

Sherlock tentatively stroked Arthur. _He's quite soft...and warm...Maybe this is why people have pets. They're like constantly warm soft pillows...and at least I can tell when he pays attention. My skull seems to be getting distant...and many people have mastered the art of_ looking _interested...Maybe people have pets to have someone actually listen._

Unknown to Sherlock, he was smiling.

John groaned as he remembered that he had left his phone in the living room. But he slowed his approached as he saw Arthur... on Sherlock's lap... and Sherlock petting him... with a small, childlike smile on his face. John bet Sherlock didn't even know he was smiling. He saw his phone on the coffee table and, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary, walked in and grabbed it. Neither man nor dog looked at him. _Weird..._


	8. Magic

"You sure you went shopping?" John asked as Zinny stood in front of him, carrying only six bags, half of which had food and cooking supplies.

"I didn't need much. I just grabbed what I needed: enough clothes to last the week, a pillow, a blanket, some food stuff," she stated. "Plus, my suitcase isn't _completely_ empty."

"That's a lotta 'food stuff'."

"I saw the state of the kitchen. You guys look like you only get a home-cooked meal when Mrs. Hudson feels nice enough. She's your landlady, not your maid."

Sherlock quietly chuckled as he eavesdropped on the pair. _She and Mrs. Hudson will get along fine._

"Anyway," Zinny continued, "English food and takeout is good, but I prefer some home food." With that, she walked past John, dropped some bags on the couch and continued to the kitchen. "And what are you giggling about, Sherlock?"

Sherlock and John froze in shock. She caught him; she had caught the great Sherlock Holmes. While John was still gaping ( _Sherlock giggles?_ ), Sherlock, felt a mixture of amusement, shock, and mild annoyance. "Ms. Walburga," he replied (John snapped out of his daze and began sniggering), "I laugh, chuckle, chortle, snicker, and in rare occasions of great hilarity, guffaw. But I do not 'giggle'." He looked at Zinny very seriously.

Zinny sighed. "Of course. Do you guys want dinner or not?"

"I'm sure you're a great cook Zinny, but I gotta run. Got a date with Sarah," John said looking at his phone. Zinny looked a bit hurt; day one and one of her flatmates was already trying to avoid her? "We've been planning to go out for a while, but we had too many cases. Now that the psychos of Britain have quieted down for a bit, I can actually have a life." He glanced at Sherlock and said, "Sherlock, behave."

"What did I ever do?"

"Shoot the wall. Set the kitchen on fire (No, I don't care if that was an experiment, you shouldn't mess with explosives in the flat). Must I continue?"

Sherlock took a furtive glance at Zinny, who was looking quite entertained. "No."

"Good. Now I'll be off." The door clicked shut.

Sherlock now looked at Zinny. "What are you cooking?"

"Any allergies?"

"Yes. To bad cooking."

_Haha._ "Well, it'll be a surprise."

A half-hour later, Zinny and Sherlock were sitting and silently eating. The only sounds were the clinking of silverware against plates and Arthur snuffling as he inhaled his food.

"Have you boys finally learned how to cook? It smells wonderful..." An amazed Mrs. Hudson entered the room. "Oh, Sherlock you cooked? Where's John? And who is your lovely guest?"

Zinny felt her face heat up in abashment. Sherlock looked up and began his long reply, "Hello Mrs. Hudson. No, I did not cook. This is Zinny, she's new in the Scotland Yard, has moved in today, and made this wonderful dinner. John's going out with his girlfriend...Sarah? Yes, Sarah."

"Oh Sherlock there's no room in this flat. Where is Zinny sleeping?"

"The couch."

Mrs. Hudson looked to Zinny as if to apologize, but before she could admonish Sherlock, Zinny quickly said, "I like the couch. It's pretty comfy."

"Okay dear... But what about privacy? Storage?" Mrs. Hudson looked worried.

"They gave me the hallway closet. And I don't need that much privacy."

"Okay... Well, we must chat another time; my friend broke her leg doing God-knows-what..."

As Mrs. Hudson explained, very loquaciously, why she had only stopped by for some overnight supplies and was leaving very soon, Zinny was lost in thought.

_I'll finally get to know this Sherlock character. Arthur seems to have warmed up to him_ , she remarked as she saw her loyal terrier dozing, with a full belly, at the feet of Sherlock.

"Good night Mrs. Hudson." Zinny looked up as Sherlock bade Mrs. Hudson farewell.

"Before I leave, Zinny, don't spoil these boys," she said with a smile.

Zinny smiled back. "Don't worry Mrs. Hudson. Pretty soon, they'll be the ones cooking and cleaning." Her grin grew wider as she imagined Sherlock going through the flat with a feather duster and John cooking.

Mrs. Hudson's smile also grew. Sherlock frowned slightly.

"Bye Zinny! Bye Sherlock! And keep an eye on that dog of yours!" The door clicked shut for the second time that night.

The pair finished eating in silence and put the dishes in the sink ("John'll do 'em tomorrow," Sherlock said confidently).

Zinny went into the living room, grabbed her things, and strolled over to her new closet. Sherlock watched as she simply tossed in the bags, minus the pillow and blanket, and pulled out a set of DVDs.

"What are you watching?" Zinny flinched; Sherlock was standing right behind her, smiling slightly. _Ha, you can't always catch me._

Zinny regained her composure. Her older brother had done that for years and always thought she could keep her cool. But her brother wasn't Sherlock. She knew he was probably chuckling to himself (because apparently, he didn't giggle).

"A TV show that I haven't seen in a while."

Sherlock plucked the set of discs from her hand. "Merlin? Everyone knows Arthurian legend; why watch a TV show on it?" Zinny got up, almost bumping into Sherlock. She almost missed his question.

Zinny had debated (for about thirty seconds, hotels are just too expensive) about moving in with her new colleagues. She usually didn't try to get too close to those she worked with. This case was no exception. Especially Sherlock. John she could handle. He was a mostly-normal person.

But Sherlock...he was arrogant, completely lost on the basics of social etiquette, had the strangest mood swings, and...was so damn attractive. _Crap, do not think about that Zinny. He is your flatmate and your colleague. End of discussion._

"They continue making books into movies. And as in situations like this, the writers twist it, making their own stories. Now that I think about it, I guess it's like fanfiction. And I find Merlin to be quite interesting."

"Fanfiction? That fake rubbish stuff that would never happen in rubbish situations that would not happen in the first place? If Merlin is like that, than I don't think anyone would like to watch that."

Zinny rolled her eyes. "Not all fanfiction is 'rubbish'," Zinny stated, mocking Sherlock's accent. "And you gotta be more open...don't be like the grumpy dog-thing in Green Eggs and Ham."

"Green eggs and ham? What the hell are you talking about?"

_Oh dear god... this poor man._ "Never mind. 'You do not like it, so you say; try it and you may I say.'"

_This woman's gone bonkers. John and Mrs. Hudson left me with a madwoman... who rhymes._

"Oh don't give me that look! Just try the show. And don't give me any of that 'illogical' crap."

Sherlock knew he was defeated, plus, he was quite bored. There were no interesting cases. John had sat on his violin ("I told you not to leave it on the couch!"). He had already reread each his books at least twice. Even the Internet, the logical side at least, was being boring.

Zinny watched, amazed, how Sherlock, though defeated, could still walk with such great dignity and pride. Most guys she had hung out with had tried to do so and failed. He sat rigidly on the couch. _I will teach this man how to relax,_ Zinny vowed.

"Gimme a sec!" Zinny called out. She pulled her pajamas out of her suitcase and quickly changed in the bathroom.

"Let's get this over with," Sherlock stated. Zinny rolled her eyes, popped in the DVD, and settled comfortably next to Sherlock's shadow on the couch. The man was still sitting straight up. _This is going to be a long 45 minutes..._ Zinny groaned internally.

However, as Colin Morgan began walking over the sandy hill, on his way to Camelot, Zinny quickly snapped, "Keep your mouth shut, for at least the first half."

"How long is that?" Sherlock's eyes bored into Zinny's.

Zinny replied defiantly, "About twenty minutes."

_Dammit. Might as well try to enjoy it..._ Sherlock looked back at the screen uncertainly.

Zinny watched as Sherlock watch the show. She had watched this episode so many times, at least twice a year for the last four years. Zinny instead observed the stages Sherlock went through: skepticism, slight shock, an unwillingness to watch, curiosity, and then... Zinny subtly did all the cliché movements one did in disbelief: rubbing her eyes, shaking her head, pinching herself; Sherlock looked interested.

After twenty minutes, Sherlock said nothing. Thirty minutes, still nothing. When the episode was finished, Zinny quickly swiveled her head toward the screen, trying to appear to have been watching. "So...how was it?" she inquired, taking a side glance at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked reluctant to tell her than suddenly jolted: an idea had landed in his brain. "It was actually not bad..." He trailed off.

"And...?"

"Can we watch the second episode?" Zinny almost squealed in a very un-Zinny-like fashion, but Sherlock interrupted, "No one hears of this. Ever." _I don't know why or how, but John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson will mock me in some way if they knew about this..._

Zinny opened her mouth as if to ask him why, but instead replied with a hearty, "Of course!" as she played the second episode.

Hours would pass as Sherlock insisted they watch another episode. As the second hand ticked, Sherlock slowly leaned into the couch. Zinny sleepily smiled. _He finally relaxed..._

More time passed and the weight upon her eyes was soon too much to bear and she fell asleep. The detective, no matter how hard he fought against it (just one more episode...), fell asleep as the credits started rolling.

Zinny, having no blanket, instinctively nestled into the drowsy detective, who, also feeling chilled, snuggled back.

* * *

 In the morning:

The door squeaked open and dawn light dripped into the apartment as John quietly entered the flat. Sarah had an early shift at the hospital and he had to leave.

_Oh? What's this?_ John looked upon the sleeping pair. Zinny, in a childlike fashion, was curled up; and ( _Can it be?_ ) Sherlock had his lanky arms hugging her in a protective fashion.

John smiled to himself. _The tin man does have a heart..._

* * *

 Across the street, a woman carefully reapplied her lipstick and plucked her phone from her pocket. Her manicured nails tapped out: _It doesn't seem like you miss me Sherlock. :(_


	9. The Return of Miss Adler

John cartoonishly tiptoed past the sleepers. _Wow. They're really conked out._ Neither stirred, and their breathing remained constant, except for a little snore from Sherlock. John had to stop moving and clutch his sides in order not to crack up and wake the pair. _Can't...breathe..._

After about five minutes of just standing there, breathing irregularly, trying to calm down, John finally made it to the kitchen to find the little puppy sitting and staring at him with his stereotypical puppy-dog eyes. "Aw... someone needs to go out? And eat?"

At "eat", Arthur jumped up, and began panting in excitement. John picked up the squirming creature and quietly moved throughout the flat. One "walk" (more like a run with a crappy ending) and several Arthur-eating snuffles later, and Zinny and Sherlock were still asleep.

John walked into the room when he finally noticed that the television was still on, idling, waiting for some command. John wondered, What on earth were they watching that kept them up so late? The TV was set for a DVD, so he looked around for the DVD case, but in their messy flat, it probably fell into some vortex and would appear in the refrigerator five years later. However, as he strode toward the DVD player, a familiar woman's erotic sigh rang throughout the apartment.

_No... It's not possible... no... No._ John's thoughts quickly changed direction and his eyes scanned the room for Sherlock's phone. But before he could find it, his phone buzzed in his back pocket, indicating a text. John whipped out his phone and stared at screen. _Have questions? I'm across the street._ John sprinted out the door, grabbed his gun, and hurriedly slammed the door as he left.

* * *

 Sherlock awoke in a spasm. _Uh, buh, wuh?_

There was a reason Sherlock hated sleep: he was extremely dazed, confused and incoherent when he woke up. He hated that feeling. Well, emotions, in general, were annoying.

After a quick, head-clearing shake of his head, Sherlock noted a few things. One, he had a new text message. And two, he was hugging Zinny, who was still childishly nestled in his lap. _That's peculiar..._ Sherlock cautiously tried to unwrap himself, but Zinny simply proceeded to hug him, mumbling something about "warm". Sherlock found himself smiling; a smile which would soon fade as he thought, _Why the hell am I smiling?_

Sherlock thought about waking the girl, but instead decided to check his phone. When he read the text, he felt waves of emotions, crashing down on him mainly consisting of his least favorite feeling: confusion. Sherlock contemplated replying, but, as if on cue, another text was received. _Questions? Meet me later at 1, where your brother enjoys talking to people._

"Sherlock? What the hell was that?" Zinny's brown eyes squinted suspiciously at Sherlock. Sherlock? Having a female erotic sigh as an alert tone? No freakin' way. He's more likely to do the polka.

"I'm afraid John's hacked into my phone again," Sherlock lied smoothly.

Zinny decided to let it slide. _I'll find out later..._ "What time is it?"

"Quarter past eight."

"Crap!" Zinny jumped out of Sherlock's lap, who looked quite amused and quite relieved. "Late!" Without offering any help, Sherlock watched Zinny scramble around the house, getting ready for her first day at the Scotland Yard.

"Don't forget your glasses!" he shouted as Zinny headed toward the door. Her glasses were right next to the detective. He had made no movement to even pick up the glasses.

Her coal-black pupils glinted with a not-so-well hidden fury, fueled by panic. "Thank. You. Sherlock," she gritted through her teeth. _The people down at the Scotland Yard got one thing right, he can be such an ass._

Sherlock smirked at her undertone of "I'll get you later".

After the door slammed shut, Sherlock looked first at Arthur, then his skull. "So, I guess it's just us?"

* * *

"Hello John," Irene Adler greeted nonchalantly, casually leaning against a lamp post.

"What. The. Hell?" John had to restrain himself from screaming at the top of his lungs.

Ignoring his tone and the hidden gun, Irene drolled, "Wanna grab some breakfast? Then we could discuss things further." The Woman then proceeded to walk away, high heels clacking against the pavement.

John sighed deeply and followed her. They settled at a little outdoor cafe, and as soon as their orders were taken, John repeated, "What the hell?"

"Let me tell you a story... And no interruptions!" And thus began the long, surprisingly dull, tale of Miss Adler.

She had come for a completely Sherlockian reason: she was bored. After the little Belgravia scandal, after relocation, life had been absolutely dull. Sure, it was nice to have crazy, evil people off your back, but Irene Adler missed it. Plus, it came with a man that she was just dying to crack (this slight detail would be left out of the story of course).

"...I'm just visiting. Don't worry, Dr. Watson!"

John still eyed her suspiciously. "Sure. Just don't anything stupid."

The Woman feigned an innocent look, as if to say, "Who? Me?"

"Now I've got a lotta errands to run. Ta-ta!" Miss Adler blew Dr. Watson a quick kiss and quickly left, leaving Watson with the bill.

_I never liked that woman. She's not even that pretty..._ John muttered internally as he pulled out his wallet.

* * *

_At exactly 1 PM, in the abandoned parking garage:_

"Hello Sherlock."

"Hello Miss Adler."

Sherlock greeted the woman stiffly. This woman... she was brilliant but wasted her mind on unimportant things. And some of the emotions that stirred in him when he was around her...so annoying.

"Won't you ever just call me 'Irene'?" The Woman laughed.

"What brings you back to London? And why did you feel the need to call me?"

_Typical Sherlock._ "Why I'm back is none of your business. And I missed you, if you'll believe it."

"I don't. Now, if I'm not needed, I'll be leaving." Sherlock suddenly pivoted on his heel and began to exit.

"Moriarty misses you too." Sherlock stopped and turned around.

"Oh does he?"


	10. Let's Play a Game

Zinny rushed into the Scotland Yard, crashing into one of her new co-workers.

"Oof! Watch where you're going!" he shouted.

"Sorry..." Zinny mumbled as she stumbled past him, inadvertently tripping and landing on the floor with a thump. _Great. Just great._

"Whoa, what's your rush?" the loud man asked as he helped Zinny up.

Before Zinny replied she looked over the man. He had an overall oily look to him. He looked like he tried to style his hair and ended up with a tangled mop. It would have looked better if he hadn't tried at all. His eyes were smallish and beady, like a bird's. His voice was quite irritating. Zinny wasn't too sure she liked him.

"Late," Zinny replied quickly, trying to rush past the man. He hadn't let go of her hand.

"Whoa, relax. We're all late sometimes," the man tried to soothe Zinny.

"First day, gotta go." Zinny was irked. This man was getting annoying. She tried pulling her hand back.

"Name's Anderson. Uh, Sylvia Anderson." The man shook her hand.

Zinny reluctantly shook his hand back, tried not to snicker ( _Isn't Sylvia a woman's name?_ ) and said, "Zinny." Can I leave now?

"So you're new here?"

"Mhm." _Dear God, save me from this torture... or the BS I might get from Lestrade for being this late._

"Working with Sherlock?"

"Yup." Zinny glanced at the clock. 8:37. _Crap._

"I'm sorry. Do you have plans for lunch?"

 _Oh. Awkward_. "Oh, I'm sorry...I don't know if I'll be free today..." _Please go away now. Lestrade's gonna kill me at this point._

"Then perhaps some other time?" Anderson said hopefully.

"I don't think- I mean, I won't be-" Zinny struggled to find the right words to reject his offer.

"It's okay. I get what you're trying to say," Anderson mumbled. He finally released Zinny, who had to resist the urge to wipe her hand off on her pants. _Yech, so greasy..._

Before Zinny left he grabbed her wrist once more and with anger and disappointment tinging his tone, said, "You know you won't get anywhere with Sherlock. Many a woman has wasted a good chunk of her life chasing after that ass."

Snatching back her wrist, Zinny hissed, "Good-bye, Sylvia." Zinny smirked as she heard several people giggle. She turned on her heel and walked into the elevator.

Zinny leaned against the smooth wall. _What a great way to start my day..._

* * *

  _8: 45 AM - Back at 221B Baker Street:_

"Don't worry Zinny, I took care of Arthur, yes, he's okay..." John soothed a panicky Zinny. "Good luck Zinny. With an annoyed Lestrade, you'll need it."

After hanging up, John muttered, "Now where the hell is Sherlock?" John was used to the detective disappearing, but he needed to talk to him. Now. About a certain woman. The Woman. Who should be dead.

_Rrrring... Rrrring..._

The consulting detective never forgot his phone. Never. Then again, he usually used John's phone... or Lestrade's... he'll probably use Zinny's sometime in the future.

John looked at the caller ID: John Watson.

 _Of course..._ "Hello Sherlock."

"Hello John," Sherlock's usually bored tone replied.

"Come home. Now."

"Miss me already? Why John, I'm touched," Sherlock mocked.

"It's about Irene Adler."

Static echoed in John's ear. "Sherlock?"

"I'll be home around two, I've got some errands to run," Sherlock said stiffly and hung up.

John stared at the hang-up screen, a bloody red. _Gah, I'm going to throttle him..._

* * *

_2:00 PM, in an apartment building in London:_

"It's time to pay your rent Mr. Marshall!" A middle-aged man pounded on the door. "Mr. Marshall!"

The door silently opened. Neither sound nor movement came out of the room.

"...Mr. Marshall?" The landlord gently, cautiously pushed open the door. Then he emitted only schoolgirl-like screams.

The once cluttered room was now empty, except for the left leg of Mr. Marshall and the dried-blood-brown words, splattered on the dinghy wall, _I'm bored, Sherlock. Let's play another game. -JM_


	11. Anyone Have a Laptop?

_9:00 AM- The Scotland Yard_

Zinny tried to carefully open Lestrade's door before it swung wide open, revealing a ticked-off Lestrade in front of her, and a sheepish Sammy in the background."You're late," Lestrade said. His tone was calm. Scarily calm.

"I know." Zinny began to take a great interest in her shoes. Lestrade sighed. _Poor kid; new country, new people, new job..._

"Just get in here." Zinny nodded, still embarrassed, and sat next to Sammy, who offered her a small smile that she halfheartedly returned. Lestrade sat on his desk and, in a school principal-like manner, asked, "Do you know why you two are here?" The question was met with blank stares.

Lestrade internally groaned and rephrased the question, "Why did the Scotland Yard chose you?" Each young adult shook off their feelings of awkwardness and embarrassment and pondered the question. Why were they there?

The Yard did not seem to lack manpower. Both had seen the great hustle and bustle of the building. The Yard didn't lack brave or smart men and women either. Zinny and Sammy had both felt greatly intimidated when they first entered the Yard, meeting many the many famous folks they had seen in the news and the a few moments of pondering, the pair shook their head and replied, "No sir."

"Have you heard the stories about Mr. Holmes?" Sammy and Zinny nodded, shivers running down their spines as they remembered the stories. The murders. The blood. The broken psyche. The lies.

"You do know they're not true?"

Like a pair of automatons, they replied in unison, "Yes, sir."

"But everyone else suspects the man. Or maybe he's just a big arse." Zinny started giggling.

Lestrade cleared his throat and glared at Zinny, who immediately stopped. "Anyway, he's the reason you're here. Everyone else refuses to work with him. So whenever he's on a case, you are too. In the meantime, you'll work on other cases." As if on cue, the door opened, and the woman who had told Sammy and Zinny most of the Sherlock stories and the man named Anderson entered.

"Sammy, you'll be following Anderson to the lab." Lestrade gestured Sammy to move. Zinny gave him a thumbs-up and avoided Anderson's bitter gaze. "Zinny, you'll follow Donovan." With an inward groan, Zinny followed the cranky woman and thought,  _This outghta be lots of fun. Today just gets better and better._

* * *

_2:00 PM- 221B Baker Street_

"Where have you been?" John seethed as the detective walked through the door.

"Errands." The detective looked more dour than usual.

_I'll never understand this man._ "So, Miss Adler's back in town."

"So she is."

John's next statement was interrupted as Sherlock's phone rang on the coffee table. "I'll get it." The detective swiftly made his way to his phone. As he answered it, he tossed John his phone, mouthing a quick "thanks".

"So have you heard from her?"

"Never mind that. We have a case."

_Fun. Nights without sleep. Little to no eating. Crazy criminals. Hell, crazy Sherlock. I hope Irene Adler is just blowing through town._

* * *

_2:30 PM- in an apartment building in London:_

_What the hell am I going to get from a leg?_   Sammy poked and prodded the leg aggressively (but with caution). Sammy knew that he could get a boatload of information from this leg. In fact, he knew he had already gathered plenty of information. But he had an unpleasant day and was just bitter about it.

Anderson had been a- a- jerkwad. First he complained on and on about Sherlock. Then he complains about Zinny, and he's known her for like what? A couple minutes? Then he had the gall to complain about Sammy. You don't fingerprint right. Don't mix that with that. You need a haircut. Ugh.

Zinny was grilling the landlord, a bit harshly by the looks of it. Her day hadn't been the greatest either. Like Anderson, Donovan had complained on and on about Sherlock. And Zinny had been stupid enough to try to defend Sherlock. Zinny's reaction to Donovan's reaction: someone please shoot me. Not a good day.

It was not made any better with the devious duo standing by the door. "Just to keep an eye on them" Lestrade said. "It'll only be until Sherlock shows up" he said. God, where was that detective when you needed him?

Sammy's ears perked as he heard arguing. "Goodbye Donovan. Get a haircut Anderson. Or a brain that works." Look's like Sherlock's here.

"So how's the case going?" John asked Sammy.

"Eh, not bad. Could you hand me that knife? There seems to be something very solid in his calf..."

"Wait." Sherlock slowly examined the leg and the surrounding area before saying, "Proceed."

Carefully, Sammy sliced open the calf. "The landlord doesn't know anything..." Zinny trailed off as she watched Sammy pull a small, grey plastic tube out of the leg. "Now, that's kinda nasty."

"Open it," Sherlock commanded. Sammy didn't miss a beat. He clumsily unscrewed the top off. He held it up to Zinny, who was the only other one wearing gloves. And hers weren't covered in old bodily fluids. "You take it out."

Zinny carefully reached in. "It's a thumb-drive," she said incredulously, holding up the red memory-stick.

"Does anyone have a laptop with them?" Sherlock asked.


	12. Moriarty Wants Me to What?

After a few "kind" words with the landlord, Zinny handed a lightly beaten up laptop to Sherlock. With confident flick of his wrist, he snapped in the flashdrive.

With a high-pitched whine, the screen blacked out.

The four stood around the laptop in silence, penetrated only by the whimpering landlord waiting outside the door. John, Sammy, and Zinny simply thought, _Crap._

Sherlock kept his composure while pondering _, Moriarty wouldn't just make the computer crash..._

Sammy's heart nearly stopped as a series of loud beeps erupted from the computer. Zinny expressed his thoughts, "Is it just me, or does that sound familiar?"

However, before any of the three men could answer, Moriarty's voice pierced the air. "Hello Sherlock!" A grinning Moriarty head popped up on the screen. "As you can see, I'm bo-ored! I know you are too. So, as the message says, let's play a game. Starting now, you have 24 hours to find the rest of this man. If not... then we'll have some real fun."

Moriarty's virtual face winked and zoomed away to the right of the screen. The techno melody resumed and a virtual, pixelated version of Sherlock's face appeared, along with an oblong, blue start button. Still confident, Sherlock pressed it. He cried out, to everyone's surprise and immediate fear. What could cause the great consulting detective to cry out in agony?

"A video game? Moriarty wants me to play a video game?"

The game was like Pacman, except Pacman was Sherlock and there were little Moriarty ghosts. Sammy and Zinny tried not to laugh as the detective jammed his usually-nimble fingers on the keyboard. Within thirty seconds, the pair was cracking up as the "game-over" boop-boop-boop played and Sherlock groaned and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He glared at his pixelated face that had reappeared on the screen.

"This is stupid," he muttered. "C'mon." He motioned toward the others and started walking. "Let's just find this body."

"Sir, I've walked around this room a dozen times. There doesn't seem to be any clue as to where the body went," Sammy piped up.

"Yeah, and Marshall lived a regular life. Nothing abnormal or illegal," Zinny added.

"There's always something. Always." With a dramatic flourish, he left the room, ready to add a temporary "Mr. Marshall" room to his mind palace. What did the man do to make Moriarty target him?

_He can be such a drama queen... well, someone has to keep an eye on the arse._ "Good luck guys. And with Sherlock in this mood, wish me luck." With a sigh, John followed him.

The landlord poked his head into the room. "Can I have my laptop back?"

Zinny, said, almost apologetically, "We were just about to ask you to borrow it for a bit longer."

Still fearing the ire of Zinny, he replied, "Yeah. Sure."

* * *

_Back at 221B Baker Street, 19 hours left:_

"Hey! It's my turn!" Sammy tried to grab the laptop from Zinny, who pushed him away.

"C'mon! I didn't last that long! Just go get some more popcorn." With a huff, Sammy complied.

It had been 5 hours since they first came upon the flashdrive. Sammy and Zinny headed back to the flat to work on the game. The Scotland Yard didn't seem like a great place to work at. Sure, Lestrade was nice, but between those that disliked them for being acquainted with Sherlock and those that wanted to help but were just too intimidating, the Scotland Yard wasn't ideal.

They first tried to hack the game, but that only caused a Moriarty head to appear, cackling, "You can't hack this game! If you try to hack it again, this computer will self-destruct." And with a childish raspberry, the head faded away. Thus, began the great gaming marathon.

The two had figured out there were ten levels, but they kept dying half-way through the last level. Damn Moriartys. Zinny wanted to throw the laptop across the room. Her first case in the UK and she had to play a video game in order to solve it? She hoped Sherlock was faring better.

* * *

_A random location in the UK, still 19 hours left:_

He wasn't. Mr. Marshall had been a dull man. The only interesting thing about him was that he hadn't paid his rent that month. Mainly because he was dead.

He went to the barbershop that every man went to. He went to all the regular stores. He had a regular job at the office. Sherlock pitied him. And hated him.

"C'mon Marshall, tell me something! Anything!" Sherlock banged the side of the late Mr. Marshall's office building, which he had just exited.

John had gone to get some food and nicotine patches, hoping to soothe the frustrated detective.

"Looks like you need some help Sherly." Sherlock did not turn his head from the dark marble as he heard the click-clack-click of high-heeled shoes against pavement.

"Hello again Ms. Adler."


	13. Clawed

_221B Baker Street, 11 hours left (3 AM):_

"I did it! Holy crap! I did it! I know where the body is!" Sammy jumped off the couch, causing a snoozing Zinny to fall in the process. Arthur lifted his head halfheartedly with only some concern for his master.

"Ugh, what you do that for?" she mumbled sleepily, lying on the floor, too tired to even try to get back on the couch.

"I won! I know where the body is!"

"That's great Sam..." Zinny began to emit small snores.

Sammy placed the laptop on the coffee table before shaking Zinny vigorously. "Wake up! I know where the body is!"

With a single question, Zinny popped Sammy's bubble. "Uh-huh...But do you know where Sherlock is? This whole thing does revolve around him."

Dammit. "I'll just call him." He scrambled to find his phone and called the detective. Bzz...bzz...bzzz... Double dammit. Sherlock left his phone at home. "Okay...I'll call John."

"Hey there. The 'great' consulting detective is probably dragging my ass all over the UK right now. So my phone is probably dead. Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." Beep.

Triple dammit. "Well, we'll just have to find him." He grabbed Zinny's arm and tried to get her up.

"Sammy...you need sleep. Sherlock could be anywhere in the UK. And it's three in the morning."

Zinny's logic didn't reach Sammy's brain. It just kept telling him to find Sherlock. Or sleep. It liked sleep. "C'mon, please?"

"No. Sleep," she commanded.

With a disgruntled harumph, Sammy collapsed into the couch and passed out.

* * *

_Random location in UK, still 11 hours left:_

_Where the hell is he?_   John paced the 24-hour, fast food restaurant floor. The bag of cold Chinese food and nicotine patches were on his seat. The cashier carelessly flipped through her magazine, snapping her bubblegum.

John had arrived back at the late Marshall's office building, only to find Sherlock missing. In these cases, Sherlock either assumed John knew where to go next or to wait for him because he would be back soon enough. Since Sherlock had showed no hint of where he was going to go next, John decided to wait in the McDonald's across the street.

John had longs waits before, but never this long. Eight hours? That's not like Sherlock. Not in the middle of London. Not on a time-sensitive case like this. And especially not on a case involving Moriarty. But there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for Sherlock to burst through the door and go, "Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting for you forever!"

* * *

  _Motel three blocks away from John, still 11 hours left_ :

Sherlock was slumped in a plush seat, three scratches slashed across his left cheek.

 _I knew mixing that nail polish with a sleeping drought would come in handy one day_. Irene Adler thought as she washed her hands in the bathroom sink.

Upon first meeting her, you would think Ms. Adler might have a heart. You think that, deep down, she has sympathy. Has empathy. And like most women, looking for that special someone.

She's not.

She's only looking out for herself. And with that, she's looking for cash.

Anyway, she wasn't going to kill Sherlock. Just delay him.

And Moriarty might kill him later. But by then she would be relaxing on a beach in Indonesia.

 _I'm still a good person, at least I told him what he needed to know._ Ms. Adler did tell Sherlock what he needed to know.

Marshall had pissed off Moriarty. Marshall had accidentally taken Moriarty's coffee at Starbucks.

* * *

_An Explanation of Moriarty's logic for killing Marshall:_

Taking one's coffee by accident definitely call for killing them and chopping them up. It's just the right thing to do. It saves the world from stupid people.

C'mon, they call your freakin' name to give you your coffee. You just cannot screw that up.

Hmm... he probably should kill that cashier too. She had seen him when he had said his name. Wait, maybe her shift ended... Moriarty didn't have time to remember these things, these people.

Decisions, decisions... maybe he should have just burned down the building...


	14. Crystal Eyes

_Random location in UK, 6 hours left (8 AM):_

John woke up, disoriented. It took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings. He was still in the fast-food restaurant. He had fallen asleep in the back corner, unnoticed by the mostly apathetic staff. Well, maybe they did notice him. The Chinese food and some nicotine patches from his bag were missing.

John felt a knot tighten in his gut. Sherlock never showed up. He wasn't waken up by his annoying, supercilious voice, there wasn't some cryptic note stuck on his forehead, no employees had tried to tell him about a crazy man with a scarf telling them to pass on a message, nothing.

John approached the register. "Can I borrow your phone?" The cashier looked at him incredulously.

"Just for a sec. Besides, your friends ate my food." Strangely feeling responsible for his coworkers' actions, the cashier handed over his phone.

John punched in a number. "Lestrade? I need some help, Sherlock's gone. No, I don't miss him. He left me. For 13 hours. Without any explanation. Come quick, and bring Sammy and Zinny."

_5 hours left (9 AM):_

"Sorry it took so long. Traffic was hell," Lestrade, flanked by Zinny and Sammy, apologized.

"Where's Sherlock?" Zinny piped up.

John sighed, distressed. "That's the problem. I don't know."

The trio gave him an odd look. Sammy spoke for the group, "Then how are we supposed to find him? He could be anywhere!"

John stared at his shoes. "Well, Marshall didn't travel much outside this city...and Sherlock was following his trail...might as well start searching now..." His head remained bowed in defeat. The others glanced at each other, tiny knots forming in their stomachs.

"We'll spread out," Lestrade said. John looked up, somewhat confused, but hopeful. "But no one goes alone." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Zinny, you head off east with John. Samuel and I'll go west. We'll meet back here in four hours if we don't find him, so we can at least find the body before our deadline's up. Now, move!" The sharp command sent them sprinting off, off to find lost detective.

* * *

_5 hours left (9 AM):_

Sherlock awoke, even more dazed than usual. His mouth felt dry and rough, like sandpaper. His limbs felt stiff as he tried to stretch out in the faux-plush chair. _What the hell happened?_ he thought. He touched his cheek and winced as it stung. As he stood up, groaning, the memories flooded back.

Red lips telling the truth, telling lies. Blue eyes clear as window glass, but revealing nothing. Muddled emotions. Well-manicured nails clawing at his face. Dammit.

Sherlock's head swiveled toward the alarm clock. 10 AM? _Crap. I wonder if Zinny and Sammy had any luck with that game..._ His hand reached toward his pocket, but stopped as he remembered he forgot his phone. _What are my chances John is still waiting for me..._

Sherlock twisted the doorknob open with a flick of his wrist, ignoring the headache the light of day gave him. He could really use a coffee...wasn't there a place across from Marshall's old office building?

(Sherlock's brain and body refused to function without some caffeine in his system. He forgot he could have called Zinny, Sammy, or Lestrade from the motel room. The side affects of the drug Irene Adler had stripped away his usual energy.)

Everyone and everything could wait another five minutes.

* * *

 Random bit that is completely unrelated to the plot:

Back at 221B Baker Street:

Arthur stared at black door. When would Zinny be back? Or that over-excited man-boy? Or the kinda rock-like man? Or the nice one? Whattabout that nice, flustered lady? Where were all of them?

Arthur rested his head on his paws. He was bored.

He blamed the author of this fanfiction. He looked toward her, accusingly. I don't seem to do much in this picture. I'm bored.

Well, I'm sorry. Maybe the next fanfic.

Arthur stared toward her, eyes wide and brimming with anticipation. Pwease?

Aww... Don't worry, you'll probably have a bigger role in the next fic.

Arthur quickly changed his composure. His teeth were now bared, hackles raised, and emitting a low growl. Probably? Maybe? I will not take this! How about this? I probably won't bite you. Maybe I won't sink my teeth into your leg.

Jeesh, okay, okay... you'll be way more involved in my next story.

Arthur stopped growling and began panting, tail wagging. Thank you!


	15. Moriarty's Impatient

_5 hours left (9 AM):_

Sammy and Lestrade had looped around the block, checking each alley and each room in every building. Sammy was fast, but thorough. Lestrade went at a much slower pace and since Sammy was still new, double-checked everything. Both were surprised and disappointed that it took them an hour to complete one block. They prayed Zinny and John were doing much better.

As they reached the cafe again, Sammy was just about to zoom off across the street when Lestrade called out, "Whoa, slow your roll; lemme get some coffee before we set off again." Sammy, anxious and irritated, followed and waited by the exit, tapping his foot impatiently. Then he eyed the muffins and blueberry scones on the counter.

While Sammy looked longingly at the various pastries on display, the bell on the door rang loud and clear (snapping Sammy out his daze of desire) as a new customer came in, long coat billowing behind him. This customer was tall, almost lanky. His hair and clothes were ruffled, as if he had just woke up. And he had one long, graceful hand lifted to his forehead, indicating a headache. _Why does this man look so familiar..._

"Sherlock!"

The man's eggshell-thin tolerance of the pain was shattered by Sammy's overeager, very loud voice. Sherlock just squinted at him as an endless flood of words poured out of Sammy's mouth. By now, Lestrade had turned around and was almost talking as much as Sammy.

_Coffee...Need coffee...Or a cigarette...A cigarette would be wonderful..._

After placing his order for an extra large coffee (twice because the buffoons next to him wouldn't shut up), the noises became overwhelming. A little Thor was inside his head hammering it with each sound wave that hit Sherlock's ear drums.

The talk between employees. "Hey! I need an extra large coffee!" "Yeah? Well, I need to get outta here!" "My shift's over, see you tomorrow!"

The radio. "You don't know you're beautiful... Oh oh...That's what makes you beautiful!" "That was What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction!"

The TV. "Blah blah blah murder! Blah blah blah robbery! Blah blah blah commercial! Blah blah blah..."

The cars rushing by on the street. Screeeech! "Hey! Watch where you're driving!" Honk!

Other people placing orders. "Excuse me? How large is your small?" "I asked for no cream..." "One blueberry scone, please."

People chatting outside. "Nice weather we're having...Oh wait, spoke too soon. There's a huge, dark cloud over there..." "Yes honey, I'll get the milk." "I want an ice cream!"

And the buffoons' incessant talking... "Sherlock, where've you been?" "Sherlock, what happened?" "Sherlock, what did you figure out?" "Sherlock." "Sherlock." "Sherlock..."

"Shut up! Would you all just _shut up_!" The people outside quickly scurried past the cafe. The employees whispered. One muted the TV and radio. Another quickly took down the bell on the door as the current customers grabbed their orders and ran out. Lestrade and Sammy were silent.

The shell-shocked cashier handed Sherlock the coffee. "Thank you," he said briskly and placed a small tip in the tip jar. He turned toward his now silent companions. "I have a headache," he stated.

Way to state the obvious, Sammy thought, rolling his eyes. Sherlock shot him a dirty look. Sammy stopped as he felt his heart almost stop and his sense of sass run out the back exit.

"Now, one at a time, and one question at a time, speak."

"Where– "

Sherlock interrupted, his head turning wildly, like he was searching for something. "Where's Zinny and John?"

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

"Do you have any clue as to where we're going?" John shouted above the noise of traffic.

"Not really!" Zinny shouted over her shoulder.

John ran to catch up with the young woman. "Hold...on...we...need...to...think...about...this ..." John said, panting. He had put his hands on his knees and continued to try to breathe normally.

"Okay, okay... Let's just sit on that bench over there...On the edge of the park... Jeez, you need to go to the gym or something..." With each statement, Zinny patted John in a mock comforting way.

John looked up at Zinny and glared. "Shut up." She smiled.

The pair sat on the right side of the bench, next to a man in a suit, appearing to be on an outdoor coffee break. As Zinny and John began to discuss what to do next, the man tapped Zinny on the shoulder. "Do you happen to have the time?"

"Oh, well it's..." She noticed the watch on the man's wrist and then felt the chilled barrel of a gun pressed into her gut.

"Now now, not a peep out of you." The slow, serious tone of the businessman disappeared and was replaced with a new one, a jovial one, a familiar one...

"Sure thing, Moriarty," Zinny sneered. The gun was jabbed further into her stomach, giving Moriarty the pleasure of hearing a small groan.

"Don't be so cheeky young lady, you don't want your friend to lose his brains do you?" He grabbed her face with his free hand and turned it toward John, who had a small, almost inconceivable dart in his neck and his eyes were closed. But at least his breathing was finally at a normal pace.

John's head was resting on the disguised gun barrel of the man standing next to him. The man gave Zinny a wink and crooked grin.

Moriarty forced Zinny's head back towards him. "Now, a car is going to pull up within the next hour or so. You, John, Ivan, and I are going to get in the car. Until then, why don't you tell me about your oh-so fabulous adventures in the States?" 

* * *

_10 AM (4 hours left):_

Assured that Zinny and John were fine, Sherlock answered each question Lestrade and Sammy asked. After admitting he had only found out Moriarty's crazy motive from his meeting with Miss Adler, he asked Sammy about the game. "Well, it took several hours but I finally beat it! We can just hop in the car and find the body!"

"Well? What are we waiting for?" Lestrade asked.

"Whattabout John and Zinny?" Sherlock asked. "They're still looking for me, aren't they?"

Sammy replied, "I don't think we'll have time to find them. We have only four hours left and it's gonna take us at least three to Newtown."

Sherlock nodded but still looked uneasy.

"Y'know what? I have a friend that works around here. I'll just borrow his car and get John and Zinny. You guys go find the body before time runs out."

Sherlock now nodded with confidence and plucked Lestrade's keys out of his hands. "I'm driving."

"No way! It's my car..." Sammy listened to Lestrade's whining fade as the distance between them and him grew. As soon as he heard nothing he headed into the alley next to the cafe, where a shiny, black car with tinted windows was parked, keys in the ignition.

Sammy slid into the driver's seat and began to drive. He knew exactly where Zinny and John were. After a while, he pulled up next to a park bench.

On the bench was a young businessman talking with a young woman, who seemed to be his lover, for they were quite close together. An older man, who had fallen asleep, was leaning on the big-built man standing next to him, his friend, as most would assume.

Sammy rolled down the windows. "Sir?" The businessman looked up and smiled. "Ah, our ride is here." His lover looked up and a medley of emotions passed on her face. Shock. Sadness. Disappointment. Fury. Lots of fury.

If you were passing by the park and watched, you could see that as the businessman with a grin on his face pick up his lover bridal style, the silver glint of a gun was just barely revealed. But it would be so quick you would think it was nothing. Just the sun.

If you watched closely you could see the man's arms twitch in effort as his girl seemed to struggle. But hey, maybe she just didn't want to be picked up like that.

Now you see that after the businessman placed his lover (seemingly) gently in the car, the big-built man picked up his friend and entered the car as well. Guess they know each other.

The shiny black car leaves and you, seeing the scene as normal, continue on your way, back to your life and your problems.


	16. Game Time

_2 PM (Time's up)- Newtown:_

They had found the body. They had run all over town, but they finally found the body in an abandoned car repair shop. It was missing a leg and a wallet in the back pocket indicated a Mr. Marshall. They also found an old flip phone. And it was ringing.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade. "Don't answer it! Who knows what'll happen?" Lestrade hissed.

Of course, Sherlock answered with a skeptical, "Hello?"

"Oh Sherlock! You found him! I guess I got a bit over-excited though..." Moriarty giggled.

 _Ugh, now that is why I don't giggle_. "What did you do?" Moriarty's tone was...strange. Happy. Like he did something he knew Sherlock would hate.

"Let's just say some friends of yours got a bit 'tied up'..." Moriarty was now cracking up. After a few deep breathes, his tone became quite serious. "Look's like Lestrade's going to be joining us soon. Meet us at the London Zoo at midnight. Near the lions. Oh, this is going to so much fun!" Sherlock looked up and spun around. Lestrade was no where to be seen.

_Crap. And he had the car keys. I wonder if I can still hotwire a car..._

* * *

 Midnight- London Zoo:

Sherlock had spent all day trying to find John, Zinny, Lestrade, and Sammy. He couldn't find any of them. And Sherlock was suspicious of Sammy. His friend hadn't seen him since the night before last, even though Sammy said he was going to see him about borrowing a car.

The cell phone, his only connection (the body had nothing else, Sherlock had interrogated Anderson, whom he was forced to call in order to get an adequate analysis), had been pick-pocketed. _Damn you, Moriarty._

Sherlock had easily snuck into the zoo. Security was missing. Of course Moriarty had gotten to them first. And the lion area wasn't hard to miss. Moriarty had lit up only that area. The rest was of the zoo was just a babel of snorts, grunts, hoots, barks and eerie howls in the dark.

Sherlock squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights. "Welcome Sherlock!" the chipper voice of Moriarty said. "You must've known I wouldn't let you win so easily. Right?" Moriarty walked up to Sherlock. "Right?" Sherlock just stared.

"Ooh pity. Sherly's not in the mood to play. Oh well. It's only fun for me really. And it's a short game anyway. It's a choosing game. Lovely assistant, why don't tell Sherly here what to do."

Another figure slunk out of the shadows. Sammy. Sherlock looked at him with pure hatred. "Well, Sherly, all you have to do is pick which one of the three – John, Lestrade, or Zinny – we'll take out of the lion enclosure. We've been prepping the lions to especially hungry and vicious tonight, so the other two will make lovely meals for them tonight."

Sherlock approached the lion enclosure. Each of his friends was dangling on a rope, barely out of the reach of the snarling lions.

He was supposed to choose who would live and therefore, who would die?

John was his best friend. He had stuck with Sherlock through thick and thin. He knew all of Sherlock's imperfections and was able to live with it. He was able to knock (sometimes literally) some sense into Sherlock. He was Sherlock's window, his translator, his bridge to the real world and its inhabitants. He was Sherlock's companion on those long chases through alleys and streets, those midnight drives to some random village, those nights when Sherlock just didn't feel like sleeping. Sherlock couldn't just let him die.

Lestrade had, in a weird way, become his friend. Sure he was annoying at times, but he would always give Sherlock the best gift he could ask for: a new, puzzling case. He was able to keep most of the Scotland Yard away from Sherlock. He was, in a way, Sherlock's protector. And so Sherlock felt the need to protect him as well.

And Zinny... Sherlock had just met her. But he liked her. She was a good combination of everyone Sherlock knew. She could be fussy like Mrs. Hudson. Annoyed at times but still supportive and a good friend like John. Bossy, even she knew though Sherlock would stubbornly not listen, like Lestrade. And she had some qualities that were her own that Sherlock liked. Like her fiery temper, and an obdurateness that could outlast maybe even Sherlock's. And there was her laugh and good sense of humor. She was quite... scintillating. Sherlock couldn't let her die either.

* * *

 Moriarty continued to giggle as he watched Sherlock squirm. Oh, it felt so good to watch the great consulting-detective squirm. Watch him look for a way out. Watch his head swivel, dark locks bouncing, as he looked from person to person. Watch that single bead of nervous sweat run down his face as he eyed the hungry lions. Watch his blue-grey eyes dart between each person as they try not to make eye contact with him. Shakespeare was right when he said, "What fools these mortals be." Ugh, always with these friendships, and self-sacrifice, and love...it made Moriarty want to gag. Blegh.

Moriarty was so absorbed in these thoughts, he didn't notice the figure behind him slowly approaching. It raised a single hand and brought it down on Moriarty's neck. The maniacal man fell to the ground, a small, almost inconceivable dart implanted in his neck.

Sherlock turned to see Sammy smiling at him, standing over the body of Moriarty. "Let's get them down, shall we?" Sammy fished around Moriarty's pockets until he found a small remote. With a few button clicks, the trio was swung over from the lions to Sammy and Sherlock. As Sammy and Sherlock began untying the three, Sammy said, "DI Lestrade, sir? I'm sorry but I had orders from higher up to try to catch this man. He recommended getting his trust."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy, but who the hell would tell you to do all of this?" Lestrade asked incredulously.

"I would." Mycroft strolled in, twirling his umbrella. "I'll just take him and leave," he said, pointing at Moriarty. Two police officers appeared and picked up the consulting criminal. "Good night," he called out as he walked away. Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Zinny all stared as Mycroft disappeared into the night.


	17. The End?

_1 AM- 221B Baker Street_

"Where did you say those band-aids and Advil were?" Sammy shouted.

"By the toothpaste!" John yelled back.

Sammy found the supplies, applied a few band-aids to his face, and took a dose of Advil. Ugh, that Zinny could sure pack a punch. And she should trim her fingernails. Ow. Sammy winced in pain as he touched his scratched face.

Okay, maybe going undercover wasn't the best decision. He had lost Zinny's trust and Sherlock was much more closed around him. John and Lestrade were pretty okay, but still wary. But hey, Moriarty was now rotting in a jail cell. He had time to mend his mistakes.

* * *

 John and Lestrade had gone into the kitchen to make a few cups of coffee. No one was planning on sleeping anyway. Sammy was upstairs tending to his wounds. Zinny was sitting on the couch, knees pressed into her chest. Arthur stared at her inquisitively, wondering why his master was so quiet. Zinny glanced at Sherlock. He was standing by the window. Just staring out at the night. She wondered what was running through his mind.

Hell, she didn't even know what was running through her own. She was relieved. Alive. She was miffed at Mycroft. She felt betrayed by Sammy. Sure, he had ultimately saved her, Lestrade, and John, and captured a criminal, but at what cost?

Zinny shivered as she remembered the last 24 hours. She had been playing a game with Sammy. They had laughed, argued, and maybe even flirted. They were fast friends. But in less than 12 hours, she was in the park, a gun pressed into her abdomen, Moriarty moving closer to her, whispering things she wished to forget.

She remembered praying for someone to show up, for Sammy to run up and hit Moriarty in the head, or for Lestrade to shoot him, or for Sherlock punch him. But all that showed up was a sleek, black car driven by Sammy. Not the Sammy she thought she knew, a Sammy that was obedient to Moriarty and didn't even glance at her. A Sammy that was cold and uncaring. Which was why when she was untied, she tackled him, punched him, kicked him, clawed him, hoping that the old Sammy was somewhere in there, underneath the cold and uncaring...

He was there. Somewhere. Maybe she would find him one day.

* * *

 John walked in with two mugs of coffee. One black with two sugars, the other with so much cream and sugar, it could barely be called coffee. He took a quick a peep at Sherlock and Zinny. Zinny was seemed to be staring at the floor, but it was a vacant stare. Sherlock had the same stare as he looked out the window. He set the two mugs on the table.

As he walked away he heard one of them stir. He turned around slightly to see Zinny get up and grab her violin. He had never heard her play. It was a slow, bittersweet melody, and John was just about to leave again when he heard the undertone of another violin beneath Zinny's melody. He turned to see Sherlock playing, the neck of his violin almost touching the neck of hers.

John suddenly felt like he was intruding on a very personal moment and turned to leave when he bumped into Lestrade and Sammy both of whom seemed entranced. John waved his hands in front of their faces to get their attention and shooed them out of the room. This was a moment for Zinny and Sherlock to emote, not for them to be gawked at.

* * *

 Lestrade stood near the kitchen counter, dazed. The haunting melody continued to play. Sammy appeared to be in shock. Lestrade questioned ever bringing him into the Scotland Yard. He was good at his job and had seemed like a great kid, but he had fooled them all. For a while, they would all question his motives, his personality, _him_.

The song suddenly stopped. Lestrade could hear a soft crying. Since John had gone to the store to grab some more nicotine patches, god knows Sherlock would need those later, Lestrade was able to creep through the doorway and take a glimpse at the pair.

Zinny – for these past few days in a new country have been quite stressful – was the one crying and wrapped awkwardly in the embrace of Sherlock. Lestrade quickly returned to the kitchen.

* * *

 The warm, salty tears soaked into Sherlock's black shirt. He had observed that in a situation like this, one usually hugs the person crying. Usually, Sherlock was annoyed or felt awkward due to crying people. But, for some reason, this situation was different. Instead of telling her to get over it or just standing there awkwardly, Sherlock had tried to hug her.

At first, Zinny seemed a bit shocked and became rigid, then she simply hugged the awkward detective and continued to cry. And Sherlock let her.

* * *

Meanwhile...In a high security prison cell:

Moriarty stared at the ceiling. Mycroft and his men were going to interrogate him soon enough. It would be pretty easy to get out of here... but it was nice and quiet here. It was easier to think of a new game. A better game. A game where the stakes were high and the ending would be anything but boring.

Yes, a game in which the high and mighty Sherlock would fall...everything around and about him would fall... yes... this could be quite a fun game...

The End...?


End file.
